The Orc That Picked a Juniper Berry
by My Little Margie
Summary: When the Dovahkiin waltzes into Dushnikh Yal Ghorbash assumes she's there to steal something. He's not that far off when she reveals her reason for being there is to take him. On a whim Ghorbash agrees and the two unlikely companions set off to join the Legion, save the world, and make all the stops along the way.
1. Chapter 1

Ghorbash stared at the girl unwaveringly as the feast dragged on, barely talking to anyone that tried to garner his attention. He heard Umurn make a joke that he was in love, but Ghorbash didn't care; he wouldn't let the girl out of his sight.

She had shown up three weeks prior, towing an older, hardened woman whom the girl had addressed as "Lydia." Ghorbash's mother had assigned her the gauntlet quest after she had asked for entry, and the girl had left with her mercenary.

Ghorbash had thought that that would be that.

Every once in awhile a human or elf would show up at the stronghold, but most were simply lost or curious, and were easy to ward away. A few found them with hate in their hearts, one memorable encounter involved a few drunk stormcloaks, but they could not breach the walls and were easy to shoot down.

Occasionally though, a traveler would ask to become bloodkin, and for at least the thirty years Ghorbash had been alive they had been assigned to find the gauntlets.

None of the adventurers had ever come back, and so it was to the clan's great surprise that she came back a few weeks later, without her companion, clutching the gauntlets.

The chief, his brother, had welcomed her with open arms, and thrown a grand feast in her honor, but Ghorbash wasn't as trusting.

She had not given her name, simply saying, "Call me Dovahkiin."

She wanted something, no one would go through that much work without wanting something.

The stranger would occasionally meet his eyes, and he was grudgingly impressed that she would stare, unfazed, back at him, before her attention was drawn elsewhere.

Quickly she became a favorite of the clan, as she ate, drank, and laughed excessively, and actually brawled one of the chief's sons when dared to.

If anyone had doubted that she obtained the gauntlets herself they doubted no longer. Ghorbash wondered if this was what she wanted, because she smiled afterward when she thought no one was looking.

He assumed many people would think her harmless, as she was small for a Nord, almost the size of a Breton, with soft, upturned features and large blue eyes. She was also very young, and could not have seen more than nineteen winters. It would make sense that she would not often be taken seriously.

When she had brawled with his nephew, even in good spirits and full of wine, she had moved lethally and fluidly, using her small size to her advantage, slipping away like smoke. Thus, Ghorbash was not surprised to see that the only weapons she carried were a bow slung to the back of her chair, and a dagger tucked into her belt. He wouldn't be surprised if she were a sneak thief.

The rest of the feast was excellent, and it lasted well into the night. The chief was in an especially good mood because of the retrieval of the gauntlets, and thus the tribe was in a good mood. It also helped that the Dovahkiin was highly entertaining; she had an enchanting singing voice, and many droll tales that even Ghorbash himself cracked a smile at.

Slowly, one by one, the Orsimer drifted to bed, until it was just the chief, the traveler, and Ghorbash. He would be damned if he left that woman alone with his brother.

"You may wake whomever you choose and take their bed," the chief told her, "I forgot to tell someone to sleep on the floor."

Both the Orsimer knew that he had not forgotten, that it was a test to see how she reacted to the rude slight, however, she seemed to know it too, and she responded perfectly.

"It is no matter, I am no stranger to sleeping on the floor. However, were it not for the short notice in my arrival I would have thought you to be rude."

Acceptance of the situation and clear non-tolerance should it happen again, crafted like a wordsmith. Ghorbash again felt an unwilling admiration for her.

"She'll have my bed, brother," he said, almost grinning as his brother and the traveler looked at him in surprise.

In truth, he wanted her in his bed so that he would be closer to her should she try to do anything disagreeable, and he had also noticed that she had favored her left leg during the fight with his nephew. Though many called Ghorbash stoic, he was not cruel, and he would not let an injured child sleep on the floor.

"I thank you," the girl said, and Ghorbash could tell it was genuine. "May I ask your name?"

"Ghorbash," he answered, "Though there are some that call me Ironhand."

The girl's face did not change at the information, but she cocked her head slightly, reminding Ghorbash strongly of a bird looking at a worm.

"Would you mind joining me outside?" she asked, "I am afraid the wine has gone to my head, and I would like to sober up at least a little before I sleep, to lessen the ache in my head tomorrow morning."

Ghorbash nodded, though he was sure that she was not as drunk as she claimed.

They both went out into the night, away from the rest of the clan, and as he closed the door on the longhouse he felt a strange foreboding that he was closing the door on a chapter of his life.

Now that they were alone she seemed more hesitant, and Ghorbash noticed with a sense of exasperation that she did not even come up to his shoulder.

"Sit down," he told her, more weary than demanding, "and let me look at your leg."

He thought that she might refuse him, but she simply shimmied out of the bottom half of her leather armor and sat down on the chair under the awning, propping her leg up on a barrel.

The wound was bad. A large gash running along the outside of her thigh had been clumsily wrapped, rendering Ghorbash surprised that she had been in such good spirits all night, as he was sure that such a wound had to be painful.

"Dwarven sphere," she told him as he carefully unwound the wrappings, "I sidestepped it, but not quick enough."

"You're lucky it's not deep," he told her, fingers pressing lightly on her tiny leg as he turned it this way and that. "It will heal quickly, perhaps not even scar."

"Pity," she quipped, and he smiled at her, fangs bared, before walking the short distance to his mother's medicine hut.

After a quick survey of the contents he grabbed the wheat paste and the sutures before heading back to the girl, who was again watching him as a bird does a worm.

"This will sting," he warned her, and then proceeded to rub the paste in the wound.

To the girl's credit, she only winced, watching him silently as he slathered on the paste before threading the sutures through a bone needle and piercing her skin.

That she did react to, and the hiss that escaped through her teeth sounded loud in the quiet of the night.

He spent the time he stitched her leg in silence, watching the flesh of her thigh twitch as he passed the needle in and out, appreciating the way she bore it quietly.

Soon his task was finished, and he watched her admire his handiwork.

"Thank you," she told him, seemingly sincerely.

He allowed her to put her armor back on before he asked her his question.

"Why have you come here?"

"Ah!" she exclaimed, smiling like she had a secret, "I was wondering when you'd ask. I'm surprised you offered to help me, you obviously don't trust my intentions... Why is it you think I came?"

"You're a thief," he told her, daring her to contradict him.

She shrugged. "I am, but that's not why I'm here. You can check my pockets."

Ghorbash had half a mind to, but he could not detect a lie, and his curiosity refrained him from acting.

"No, I've actually come here for you."

" _Me_?"

Ghorbash could not have been more surprised had she told him she was Malacath himself.

"Why is it that you want me?"

She paused for a moment, as though carefully picking her words, before asking, "What did you think of me, when you first saw me? Don't try to spare my feelings, be honest."

Seeing as Ghorbash was not going to spare her feelings anyway, the last warning was unnecessary.

"I thought you young, inexperienced, naive for walking up to a stronghold with nothing but a mercenary and a pretty face."

She nodded. "Exactly, people don't take me seriously. I don't necessarily need them to, my actions eventually speak for themselves, but it is tiring. I am _Dovahkiin_ , and people treat me like a child."

"You say Dovahkiin as if I should know what it means," Ghorbash said, "I am Orc, not Nord."

"Dovahkiin means Dragonborn," she said, and before his very eyes she turned her head and sprayed the bucket beside her with frost coming from her mouth.

A bolt of fear shot through Ghorbash as he stared at the bucket encased in ice, and Ghorbash had not felt fear in a very long time.

"Dragonborn," he repeated.

He had heard of the Dragonborn in his days in the Legion, old Nord nonsense about those with the blood of dragons who could shout as the dragons did. He had put it off as old superstition, but this child had breathed dragon ice right next to him, and he was suddenly unsure of the very ground he stood on.

"I was in a tavern in Whiterun a few moons ago, and one of the Battleborns was speaking of his service to the Legion. He spoke of an Orsimer, big as a mountain, who the troops called Ironhand because they had seen him crush a man's throat with nothing but his bare hand. He told me you were living in a stronghold near Markarth and so off I went. I need a companion, one who can hold his own, one who supports the Legion, knows how to follow orders, and can fight like Oblivion."

"I left the Legion."

"Would you rather the Stormcloaks win?"

Ghorbash didn't answer, but redirected, "Many places will not serve Malacath's faithful, and there are many that would frown on my traveling with a young Nord woman."

"I am Dovahkiin," she countered, "They will serve you and keep their mouths shut."

"I am blind in my left eye."

"You still have your ears, do you not? Now, will you come with me? I will give you time to think if you need it."

"I do not need time," he said, as he had made up his mind from the moment she asked, "I will come with you."

If he had any doubts they were soon erased by her blinding smile.

"To the start of an amazing partnership," she said, offering her hand.

He shook it, his fingers engulfing hers, and smiled. "May our foes fall before us and the ground tremble at our feet."

They grinned at each other, looking more like schoolchildren than warriors, then headed toward the longhouse for a few hours rest.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Ghorbash awoke with his muscles a little sore, as he had kept his word and let the Dovahkiin take his bed. She had told him that she wouldn't mind him lying with her, but he could imagine his family's taunting after finding them together, and he declined.

Most of the clan was already awake, and thus it was obvious when he started to pack. He could feel the others' eyes on him, but did not explain himself until he had finished and sought an audience with his brother.

"You are leaving us again," Burguk said before Ghorbash could open his mouth, "Shel saw you talking with the Nord."

Ghorbash hung his head, unable to meet his little brother's eyes. "I have no wish to dishonor you, brother, you welcomed me back with open arms when many would have struck me dead."

"And so I will welcome you back with open arms again," Burguk said, causing Ghorbash to look up in surprise. "You are not happy here, and so I will let you go, but if you long once more for home, be married to her, or do not come back at all."

Ghorbash nodded, he understood that marriage to a human would make him ineligible to be chief, even if he did defeat his brother in combat.

"I understand," he told Burguk, "May your battles bring honor to Malacath and your death bring honor to yourself."

His brother repeated the sentiment, and the two clasped hands before joining the other's for breakfast.

The Dovahkiin was already at the table, and she smiled widely at Ghorbash as he sat down.

Breakfast was more subdued than the feast the night before, as all attending seemed to know he would be leaving them, but after a stern and somewhat embarrassing speech from his mother on what to do and not do outside of the stronghold, the two unlikely companions set on the road.


	2. Chapter 2

"I am surprised you did not wish for a longer goodbye," the Dovahkiin said once they were out of sight from the Stronghold, looking up at him with curious eyes.

Ghorbash shrugged. "I will see them again, in this life or the next. A short goodbye is all that's due."

"That's one way of looking at it I suppose," she agreed, "Will you be allowed to come back?"

Ghorbash shook his head. "Only if I marry a non-Orsimer, so it's not very likely."

He expected her to act disgusted at the prospect of him marrying anything other than his own kind, but instead her eyes raked appraisingly over his body before she smirked.

"I wouldn't say too unlikely, you're six and a half feet of pure muscle, plus you're quite handsome face wise."

Shooting her an incredulous look, Ghorbash wondered, not for the last time, if the girl he had agreed to follow was actually insane.

"So..." the Dovahkiin continued, "Why is your brother so interested in playing Cupid?"

"Cupid?"

"Sorry, Mara."

"It will ruin any chance I have of becoming chief if I take a foreigner for wife. I have told my brother I have no wish for his power, yet he seems to still distrust me."

She frowned, but said nothing, taking a left at the fork in the road.

"Have you ever been to Solitude?" she asked after a few minutes, "I haven't, but I hear it's beautiful."

"Solitude?" he asked, voice low and gravelly compared to hers. "We're on the road to Markarth, why not stop there?"

The Dovahkiin wrinkled her nose.

"I stopped in Markarth before I came to your stronghold. I was thrown in Cidhna Mine, and had to escape through some old dwarven ruins; that's how my leg got fucked up."

Ghorbash stopped dead in his tracks.

"You escaped Cidhna Mine?"

The girl shrugged. "Madanach did most of the work, which is kind of ironic seeing as he was the one who got the guards to put me in there. They cleared my name after I escaped but still... I'm not in a hurry to go back."

Ghorbash nodded. "Nor would I be."

They continued on the road in companionable silence, stopping occasionally for the Dovahkiin to bend down to pick flowers and mushrooms.

"Do you ever mix potions?" she asked, looking up from where she sat, cross legged, picking stalks of lavender.

"That is woman's work," Ghorbash scoffed.

"Woman's work?" she questioned, incredulous. "Was it woman's work when you sewed my leg?"

"Yes," he answered, taking pride in her raised eyebrows and wide eyes.

"I'm not sure that I follow," she said, rising from the ground and brushing off her armor.

"Malacath's faithful know healing and alchemy are women's tasks," he told her as they continued down the road. "Alchemy I will not lower myself to learn, but my knowledge in medicine saved many Legion lives, including my own."

"Why did you leave, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I do."

She didn't press the subject, which he was grateful for, but after a few minutes she posed another question.

"Will it be a problem for me to be in the Legion?"

"No," he answered, "You are Dovahkiin, they will not make you a footsoldier, and I will be taking orders from you, not them."

She nodded. "I suppose that makes sense."

They walked in silence for a few minutes more, but then she opened her mouth again.

"So why did you stitch me up last night when you though I was there to steal from you?"

"Are you never quiet?"

"Are you always so-"

She stopped abruptly when Ghorbash held his finger first up to her, then pointing to a sabrecat ripping up a deer not 100 paces away.

"Is dressing an animal man's work?"

Ghorbash nodded, his grin showing all his teeth.

"Good," she replied, notching an arrow "because I don't know how."

The arrow pierced the sabrecat's fleshy neck, and when it turned to charge toward them the Dovahkiin loosed an arrow again, bringing it down with a shot through the eye.

"Is dressing an animal man's work?"

Ghorbash nodded, grin showing all his teeth.

An arrow pierced the sabrecat's meaty neck, and when the beast turned toward the two the Dovahkiin loosed her arrow again, striking it through it's left eye, killing it.

The deer was too disgusting to salvage, but Ghorbash quickly set to work on the sabrecat.

As he skinned it the Dovahkiin tried to knock out its teeth.

"Leave it," Ghorbash told her after watching her attempt at harvesting.

"I need them for potions," she protested.

"I will do it for you," he said, "I can get them out from the root."

She nodded and took her hands out of the sabrecat's mouth.

"Could you also get the eyes out?"

He gave a grunt of agreement and she sat down with her back to a fallen tree.

"I respected you," he volunteered after slicing up the legs. "You had bravery to walk into the stronghold just as you had to find the gauntlets. If I had to kill you I wanted you to have the opportunity to defend yourself. You had earned that much."

"That's very honorable," she replied, "though a little unsettling that you were thinking of killing me."

Ghorbash let out a huff of air that could qualify as a laugh, prompting the Dovahkiin to break out in a wide smile.

"You don't laugh much, do you?"

"There is not much to laugh at."

"Well, aren't you a Debbie downer."

"You talk nonsense."

She shrugged.

"It happens. I'm from somewhere... a little different. Where are you from? Have you always lived in the stronghold?"

Ghorbash nodded.

"I was born there."

"When did you leave the stronghold for the legion?"

"I was young, only twenty summers, and I lusted for glory."

"How old are you now?"

"Thirty. I returned to the stronghold when I was six and twenty."

"Do you lust for glory now?"

Ghorbash shook his head.

"I am not nearly so stupid now."

"Then what _do_ you lust for?"

The air seemed to sizzle suddenly, and the Dovahkiin's pupils dilated as his eyes met her's. The moment was ruined, however, by the sound of a carriage coming down the road.

"Probably just travelers," the Dovahkiin said, but withdrew her bow and laid it on her lap.

It was, indeed, just travelers. A noble couple being driven in a carriage on their way to court in Solitude.

The Dovahkiin gave a courteous nod as they passed, but the woman in the carriage gave a little gasp and the man pulled his wife to his chest, covering her eyes while saying, "Don't look my flower, it is to horrid."

The Dovahkiin stared at the two in shock, but Ghorbash simply turned his face away. He knew that the nobles were disgusted by him. To them, he was a monster, and it probably did not help that he was covered in blood from the mostly skinned carcass in his lap.

"The only thing horrid here is you!" The Dovahkiin yelled at them, giving a rude hand gesture to the carriage before it rounded a corner.

Now it was Ghorbash's turn to be surprised.

"Do not mind it, it is bound to happen again."

"Then I will defend you again."

"I do not need your defense."

"But I wish to give it."

Ghorbash stared, hard and fast, searching her face for a bit of dishonesty. Finally, he nodded.

"Then I thank you for it."

The Dovahkiin smiled and he gave a nod before pulling out one of the cat's eyes.

The two did not talk as they finished their work, him pulling out the teeth and her drying the skin by flame magic.

After Ghorbash had given her the ingredients and wrapped up the meat he had cut off, they continued on their way.

"I've never eaten sabrecat before," she said conversationally.

"Best dried and salted," he told her, "The meat is already tough."

"Were you a hunter in your... is it a tribe?"

Ghorbash nodded.

"Yes, a tribe. I was war chief under my brother, but I worked in the mines when I was not needed. My brother was too afraid I would desert them again to put me outside the stronghold walls."

"So you haven't left the stronghold in four years?"

Ghorbash nodded.

"Though it seems longer."

"I can't imagine it," she told him, seeming to look at him in a new light, once more cocking her head like a bird. "I've always been a traveler, I like to spread my wings."

"Of course you do, little bird, it is your blood."

"My blood is dragon, not bird."

Ghorbash raised an eyebrow.

"Then you are the smallest kulkodar I have ever seen."

The Dovahkiin forgot her indignation in the face of curiosity.

"Does kulkodar mean dragon?"

"Why else would I have said it?"

"So you have your own language then, I wondered."

He nodded.

"We did not forget our language as the Nords have done."

The Dovahkiin contemplated this for a few minutes before breaking the silence once more.

"Can you teach me?"

"Teach you?" Ghorbash asked, incredulous.

In all his years he had never met a paleface that wished to know his language; in fact, they told him not to speak it, favoring the smooth flowing commontounge to the guttural speech of Malacath's faithful.

"Yeah, it would be helpful to have conversations without people being able to eavesdrop."

Ghorbash said nothing for a few moments, and the Dovahkiin was on the verge of apologizing when he gave his answer.

"I will think about it."

The Dovahkiin nodded and was thankfully silent.

It was not that Ghorbash disliked her, in fact, she was one of the most enjoyable people he had ever met, however, he was not used to talking so much in a single day. Ghorbash's days in the legion had made him quiet, core contemplative, less ready to talk even to his own kin.

He appreciated the silence until they could see the guard tower that stood in front of the main gates.

"Have you ever been to Solitude?" the Dovahkiin asked once more.

Ghorbash nodded.

"For the same reason you go now."

"Did you like it?"

"They did not like _me._ "

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

A/N. I'm using the black speech from Tolkien's books for orcish. I would guess that the common tounge would be Imperial, and that the Nords would have forgotten their language after they were conquered by the Empire. I always appreciate reviews!


	3. Chapter 3

When the two opened the doors they were confronted with a huge crowd that was jeering and booing rather loudly toward a stage to their right.

"Traitor!" A woman yelled before staggering back at the sight of the large Orsimer.

Though Ghorbash got a few startled glances most of the crowd remained focused on the captain of the guard and the man in his grasp. The Talos amulet around the man's neck stood out like a spotlight.

The Dovahkiin tugged gently on Ghorbash's arm and he leaned down so she could whisper in his ear: "Who do you think he is?"

"A fool for getting caught," he replied in an undertone.

The Dovahkiin gave him a sly smile that quickly slipped off her face when she heard a little girl give a cry.

"They can't hurt uncle Roggvir! Tell them he didn't do it!"

"Positions," the captain of the guard said from the stage. The scythe the headsman held glinted in the afternoon sunlight. Ghorbash admired how Roggvir didn't flinch.

"Svari," the man standing next to the girl said, "you need to go home. Go there and stay there till your mother comes."

Ghorbash frowned as the little girl ran away crying. Paleface children were so sensitive, an orc child would never sob like that.

"Lock the city gate," the captain said.

"Good thing we got in when we did," the Dovahkiin murmured.

"You should tell her that her uncle is scum that betrayed his High King! Best she know now Addvar," a woman said on Ghorbash's left.

"You're all heart, Vivienne," Addvar said.

"Roggvir. You helped Ulfric Stormcloak escape this city after he murdered High King Torygg. By opening that gate for Ulfric you betrayed the people of Solitude."

The Dovahkiin tugged on Ghorbash's arm again while the people shouted abuse at Roggvir.

"I'm going to get closer."

Ghorbash nodded and watched her slip toward the stage, admiring the way she seemed to become part of the scenery. She moved from the back of the crowd to the front without a single person seeming to take notice of her.

"There was no murder!" Roggvir yelled, trying to speak over the screams that called for his death, "Ulfric challenged Torygg! He beat the High King in fair combat!"

"Liar!" A High Elf called out.

"Such is our way!" Roggvir continued, "Such as the ancient custom of Skyrim, and of all Nords!"

The boos became louder than ever and Ghorbash attempted to locate his companion. He had only taken his eyes off her for a moment and she was already gone.

"Guard," the captain said, "prepare the prisoner."

How had he lost her? She was limping and her golden hair was sure to catch the light.

"I can prepare myself." Roggvir told the captain.

Again, Ghorbash felt a sense of respect for him.

"Very well, Roggvir. Bow your head." the captain commanded.

Was that her? It had to be, though a hood was pulled over her head and... no, the woman was much too tall.

"On this day..." Roggvir said, "I go to Sovngarde."

The scythe glinted again as the executioner raised it above his head, and then, with a wet thud, Roggvir was dead.

The Talos amulet slid across the stage, but before it could fall off a hand quickly grabbed it, the slight of palm going unnoticed by everyone but the orc. He had found the Dovahkiin.

He stayed in place as the crowd dispersed, ignoring the startled looks he received from those who had not seen him come in. From their looks he could guess he was the only orc in the city.

His companion found him and bumped her hip against his, sliding off the leather helmet she had placed on her head to cover up the blonde.

"Let's go to the inn, I want to clean up before I meet the General."

"He would perhaps like you better bloody," Ghorbash replied, the corner of his lip twitching up.

The Dovahkiin laughed loudly, attracting the attention of passersby. "Perhaps we should have saved the guts of that sabrecat so I could drape them across myself. I could tell them that I had just slaughtered a fleet of Stormcloaks."

"I would be your witness," he replied, causing her to laugh again.

"That's kind of you," she told him as he held open the door of the Winking Skeever.

The inn was more crowded than it typically would be in the afternoon, as many people had turned toward drink after the execution, and thus many people looked up at the newcomers as they entered.

The Dovahkiin nodded toward the crowd but made a beeline toward the counter.

"Welcome to the Winking Skeever, my friend!" the innkeeper said, purposely avoiding Ghorbash's eyes in favor of addressing the Dovahkiin, "Need anything just say the word."

"We'd like two rooms, sir," she told him, waving Ghorbash away when he reached for his coin purse.

The innkeeper's eyes flickered nervously toward Ghorbash, but he kept his smile.

"Ah! Would that I had two rooms! My inn is busy today, fair lady, I will rent you the last room I have, and I am sure your... friend here can rent room to sleep in the stables at Katla's farm."

"The stables!" The Dovahkiin exclaimed, and Ghorbash tried not be touched that her surprise was genuine, "He is my companion, not my dog. No, he will sleep with me."

"With you!" the innkeeper yelped, scandalized.

"Yes," she said, back-tracking, "the room has a floor, does it not?"

He nodded shakily. "Yes, I suppose they do. That will be thirty septims."

"Thirty!" the Dovahkiin replied, "Why, I've never heard of such a thing! That would buy me three nights in Whiterun!"

"This is not Whiterun," the innkeeper responded snarkily, "This is the capital of Skyrim. Now, do you want the room or not?"

"The thirty will include four meals and two baths."

"No meals, no baths."

"Four meals, two baths."

"One meal, no baths"

"I'm afraid my companion is not very pleased with that proposal."

Ghorbash took the hint and bared his teeth, letting a growl rumble in his chest as the innkeeper looked at him.

"Three meals and one bath for 35, it's the best I can do."

The Dovahkiin made a face, but reached for her coin purse nonetheless.

After counting out thirty five coins for the greedy innkeep, the Dovahkiin and Ghorbash sat down at a table in the corner, ready to be served their first meal.

"We look like a couple of vagabonds," she whispered conspiratorially to Ghorbash, her lips quirked up in a mischievous manner.

"Every day that you are with me you shall look like a vagabond," he told her, watching as the smile fell off her face.

"That innkeeper had no right to do that," she said with a sneer, the hand resting on the table curling into a fist, "You did nothing to provoke him, and to say you should sleep in the stables! Why, I never met such a dog!"

Her rant was cut short by a young girl, about fourteen, arriving at the table with two bowls of vegetable stew. Despite the fact that Ghorbash could clearly see the table to the right was eating fresh salmon and fatty duck, the soup smelled so good that neither him nor the Dovahkiin complained.

"We thank you," his companion told the girl, her smile and words genuine.

The girl seemed a bit taken aback by her politeness, but she smiled back nonetheless.

"I will be right back with your bread and mead, my lady," she said, and even gave a nod to Ghorbash before hurrying back to the kitchen.

"Kill 'em with kindness," she told him, and her mischievous smile appeared again.

Her philosophy seemed to work, as when the serving girl came back it was with fine mead, fresh bread, and even some cheese.

"Thank you, dear," the Dovahkiin said, and slipped a coin in the girl's hand.

The girl curtsied to the Dovahkiin, gave a nervous smile to Ghorbash, and slipped away.

"Always tip," she told Ghorbash, using her spoon to stir the heat out of her soup, "She will tell others that we're rich and generous, and we will be treated better for it."

Ghorbash nodded before taking a sip of his mead. Imperial mead, soaked in juniper berries. He used to drink it all the time when he was in the army.

The two didn't talk while they ate, but Ghorbash discovered, to his delight, that the Dovahkiin didn't eat much, and was quite generous with her leftovers.

"I'll tell the serving girl to get the bath ready," she said while he finished her soup, "then we should sell some of this junk in the markets while they're still open. It should be ready by the time we get back. I'll go first, if you don't mind, seeing as I'm paying for it."

Ghorbash nodded, he was just glad that she was letting him use her old bathwater.

After he was finished the Dovahkiin informed the serving girl of their plans, and after another coin in her hand and a few murmured words the two set off into the marketplace.

"She told me to go to Bits and Pieces," the Dovahkiin said, "It should be that one over there."

She walked with a purpose toward the shop, Ghorbash just behind her, scanning the perimeter. When they entered the shop they went up to the counter to speak with the Redguard woman there.

"Beirand said that you got here just before the execution, must have been a lovely first sight," she said, speaking to the Dovahkiin and giving an uneasy glance to Ghorbash.

"Who is Beirand?" the Dovahkiin asked conversationally, leaning against the counter.

"Beirand's my husband," the woman said, her voice pleasantly low, " He works the forge up at Castle Dour. I barely see him nowadays, what with him filling orders for the army."

"Were you at the execution?" the Dovahkiin asked, unloading a few scrolls and some jewelry from her bag.

"No. That was an ugly affair. High King Torygg's death has turned the whole town on its head," she turned over the jewelry and made an appreciative face, "And between you and me? He wasn't even that good a king. All of those rambling speeches about the Empire this, and the Empire that..."

Ghorbash gave an airy huff of laughter, and the shopkeeper actually smiled at him.

"Don't worry," the Dovahkiin said, winking conspiratorially, "we won't tell."

The shopkeeper laughed.

"This is great stuff, but you might want to sell these scrolls somewhere else, I'm afraid I don't know to much about magic, I might underprice them."

The Dovahkiin shrugged. "I'd rather have a one-stop shop. Will you buy this sabrecat skin and meat?"

"No meat," the shopkeeper said quickly, before Ghorbash could pull it out of his bag, "You'll want to sell that in the marketplace. I'll take a look at that skin though."

Ghorbash nodded and pulled out the skin, laying it on the counter.

"By the divines," she murmured before looking up at them, "I've never seen anything skinned so well."

"Because you have never seen orc work," he said proudly.

"I'll pay you twenty five septims just for this skin, 350 for the rest."

The Dovahkiin looked to Ghorbash for confirmation. Surprised that she would consult him, Ghorbash nodded.

"Excellent," she said with a smile, "We'll take the 350."

The woman nodded and unlocked a chest behind the counter. After counting out the right amount she swept the items the Dovahkiin brought her into her arms and put them behind the counter. The Dovahkiin looked at her own coin purse in appreciation.

"Thank you," she told the shopkeeper, "Have a good day."

The shopkeeper nodded. "Come back to Bits and Pieces anytime. My name is Sayma if you need anything else."

The Dovahkiin thanked her again, and after saying goodbye her and Ghorbash were back outside.

"I'll give you your share when we get back to the hotel. I just didn't want to fool with splitting it up in the shop."

"Hotel?"

"Sorry, I mean inn."

Ghorbash nodded, too surprised that she was planning on splitting the gold to actually say anything.

After a small bit of haggling over the sabrecat meat the two made their way back to the inn to take a bath.

The inn was a bit more crowded now that it was later, and Ghorbash and the Dovahkiin had to weave through the tables to follow the serving girl up to their room.

"What's your name?" the Dovahkiin asked the girl as they climbed the stairs.

"Minette Vinius, my lady. May I enquire yours?"

"I am called Dovahkiin," she told her, watching Minette's eyes widen.

Minette didn't say anything for the rest of the walk, and left quickly after showing them their room.

Ghorbash looked appreciatively at the steaming bath in the large copper tub, anticipating when he would get in it. He hoped that the Dovahkiin would not take so long that the bathwater would cool.

He opened his mouth to ask if he should leave, but the Dovahkiin preemptively answered the question by starting to unabashedly strip down in front of him.

"Could you go ahead and wipe down my armor while I'm in the bath?" she asked him, shucking off her boots and gauntlets, "I'll do the same to yours while you bathe."

Ghorbash nodded, collecting her clothing and retrieving her helmet from her pack.

With the jingle of a few buckles and a grunt the Dovahkiin took off the rest of her armor, baring herself completely, her fingers skimming the water to test it.

She was milky white underneath her armor, pale as the snow the Nords thrived in. A few moles stood out on her pale skin, and she looked far to soft to be a warrior, like porcelain. He looked away quickly from her pebbled pink nipples and the soft, downy hair between her legs to gaze at her thigh.

"Let me see that wound, I do not want it to spoil."

The Dovahkiin complied, limping over to his side.

Gently, he unwrapped the bandages and examined the cut.

"You heal well," he told her as he gently prodded her thigh, "You should be healed in a few days. Wash, and I will paste it after."

"Thank you," she told him, and walked back to the bath, slowly getting in, hissing through her teeth as the hot water hit the gouge in her leg. She was so small that the water went up to her neck.

She sighed in pleasure as the water loosened her muscles, and Ghorbash scrubbed her armor clean with a rag and pitcher of water he had found on the side table. She stayed still in the water, her eyes closed and breathing even, and Ghorbash wondered if she had fallen asleep.

After about ten minutes, however, she opened her eyes and reached for the bar of soap.

A strange sense of peace came over him as he watched her bathe. She was humming a tune he had never heard before, and the gentle splash of water made good accompaniment to her voice.

After she had finished scrubbing her skin and washing her hair she got out of the bath, toweling herself off.

"Let that air," he told her, "I will wrap it when I'm done."

The Dovahkiin nodded, taking a seat beside him on the bed, still naked and wet. She looked small, so small next to him, like a little bird in a rainstorm.

He felt almost ashamed to bare himself before her, but he did it anyway, not to be intimidated by a child. He felt large and clumsy next to her small frame, his scarred and mottled green skin ugly next to her soft, pale flesh. Regardless, he was still naked, and he did not miss her raised eyebrows at the sight of his cock; his time in the army informed him it was quite a bit bigger than a paleface's.

A tempting part of him wanted to acknowledge her appraising look, to jeer and ask her if her tight little cunt could handle being stuck by an Orc, but she did not deserve his crudeness, so he simply looked away and entered the tub.

The water was still comfortably warm when he sank down in it, and though there was a little bit of grime in it it was still relatively clear. He had the worst of it, and the blood of the sabrecat finally floated off in the water.

Though the copper tub had dwarfed her, it only came up just below his shoulder blades, and he had to hunch in the water to wash off his chest.

She kept humming as she washed the dried blood off his steel armor, her wet hair dripping on her shoulder as she worked.

Every once in a while, when he knew she wasn't looking, he would stare at her, his eyes drinking in the figure she painted. He felt, all at once, a sense of contentment and of longing, an outsider looking in through a window, to admire from afar.

He took less time than the Dovahkiin had, not stopping to relax and getting out as soon as he finished scrubbing himself clean.

"I'm not done with your armor yet," she told him, dipping the rag back in the pitcher.

Ghorbash shrugged. "I will tend your leg then."

It was quite the bizarre experience, both of them sitting, naked as the day they were born, as though this was a common occurrence.

As she cleaned his armor he smeared the wheat paste on her leg, watching, mesmerized as the flesh twitched and her chest heaved. She finished with his armor as he rummaged in his pack for bandages, but he didn't put it back on, sitting peacefully as he wound the bandages around her thigh.

"You are done," he told her, breaking the silence. She nodded and rose from the bed, putting her armor back on, after a small pause he did the same.

"It's just now starting to get dark," she told him, looking at the light coming in through the curtains, "We should see the general before we eat."

Ghorbash said nothing but nodded in assent.

The inn was more crowded than before, but Ghorbash did not shrink at the looks of astonishment and disgust he received from some of the patrons, instead focusing on the babbling that was coming out of his companion's mouth.

"I hope I'm not arrested, the last time me and General Tullius met was at Helgan, and I was maybe sorta about to be beheaded before that dragon showed up. Oh, don't worry," she told Ghorbash as he shot her an incredulous look, "I didn't actually do anything wrong, I just happened to be in the same place as the Stormcloaks at the wrong time."

"Was Ulfric Stormcloak not at Helgen?" he asked as he opened the inn door and they walked into the dusk.

"Yeah," she answered as though it was no big deal, "He was gagged most of the time, but he did kinda help me escape, before I teamed up with Hadvar, that is. Speaking of Hadvar, I hope he's sent a recommendation for me by now."

"How can you speak of this so casually?" he asked as they climbed the ramp by the apothecary.

"Oh, believe me, I freaked the fuck out when it was happening, but after about 48 hours it was out of my system."

"What should I do if you are arrested?" Ghorbash asked, "Kill them?"

For a moment, the Dovahkiin looked strangely touched, but she shook her head.

"No, just let them arrest me. If I can break out of Cidhna mine I can break out of whatever dinky prison they have here. Just wait by the stables and I'll meet you there."

Ghorbash nodded, staring uneasily at the two Imperial guards that stood on either side of the door to Castle Dour.

He was afraid they would not let them in, but the guard on the left gave a little bow to the Dovahkiin and opened the door, saying, "Dragonborn."

The Dovahkiin gave a curt nod and walked in like royalty, her walk both strong and graceful. Ghorbash felt like an awkward hulking brute as he trailed along behind her.

"You knew this would happen when you told the girl your name," he said quietly, realizing that even her most casual action was a deliberate move to get what she wanted.

The Dovahkiin only smiled wickedly over her shoulder before walking into the main chamber as though she belonged there.

The main chamber held two people arguing fiercely over a table with a map of Skyrim laid upon it. When the Dovahkiin entered the two looked up in agitation.

"Are my men now giving free reign to anyone who wanders into the castle?" a man with impressive gold plated armor asked.

He was older, with gray hair and wrinkles lining his skin, but with a strong, proud face, consisting of tanned skin and high cheekbones. Ghorbash decided this must be General Tullius.

"Do you have some reason to be here, citizen?" the General continued, looking at the Dovahkiin. Apparently Ghorbash had been written off as a bodyguard or servant, but to be fair, he kind of was.

"I believe we've already met," she answered, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

"Have we?" the General asked, his head cocked to the side, before recognition lit up his eyes, "Oh. Of course. You were at Helgen! One of the prisoners if I recall correctly."

The woman in imperial garb looked up sharply at this information, her eyes sticking to the Dovahkiin like needles.

"I was set free," the Dovahkiin answered calmly, as though they were talking about the weather, "I could have gone anywhere. I came here to fight for the Empire."

The General chewed on the inside of his cheek a moment before nodding.

"I suppose that's true. Fine. Why don't you have a chat with Legate Rikke. I suspect we might have use for someone resourceful like you, not many survived Helgen. Besides," he said with a sly smile to match the Dovahkiin's own, "I'm sure your being imprisoned was all a terrible misunderstanding."

The two nodded at each other in a mutual respect before Tullius turned back to the map and the Dovahkiin turned to Legate Rikke.

"You survived Helgen?" she asked, eyebrows raised, "General Tullius told me what happened, not many made it out alive."

"Not many have the luck that seems to follow me around," the Dovahkiin said with a grin.

Rikke made an impressed face.

"I've got a good feeling about you," she told the Dovahkiin, "and I don't often get good feelings about anything. A warrior knows to trust her gut..."

She looked appraisingly and the Dovahkiin, and for the first time, acknowledged Ghorbash as well, looking him up and down as though he were a prize hog.

"I'm not going to go through the normal process with you," she told them, "I've got a little test lined up. Pass that, and we'll talk about you joining the Legion."

"I can handle anything you throw at me," the Dovahkiin said with a smile that cut like a knife.

"Is that confidence, or bravado?" Rikke asked, brow arched, "Confidence I can use, bravado gets soldiers killed. We'll soon find out. I'm sending you to clear out Fort Hraagstad. If you survive, you'll pass. If you die, then I'll have no further use of your corpse."

The Dovahkiin didn't seem daunted by this callus statement, picking up one of the flags on the table and turning it over in her hands.

"What's at Fort Hraagstad?"

"The ancients built many of the fortresses that dot the landscape of Skyrim," Rikke explained, frowning at the commandeered flag, "Sadly, most have fallen into disrepair, and nearly all have been overrun with bandits or other vagabonds. Fort Hraagstad is one of the few that remains mostly intact. We're going to install a garrison there, but first, you're going to clean out the bandits that have moved in."

"Consider that fort already yours," the Dovahkiin said, putting the flag back in the wrong position.

"Good, that's what I want to hear," Rikke said, so pleased she didn't comment on the flag, "Now go make it happen soldier."

With a nod at Rikke and a wink at Tullius the Dovahkiin took her leave, Ghorbash trailing faithfully behind her.

"We'll leave in the morning," she told him over her shoulder as they trekked down the ramp of Castle Dour, "I never travel at night, not if I can help it."

Her skin was purple in the dusk, and the moonlight made her hair look more brown than blonde. Her eyes sparkled like stars in the darkness, and Ghorbash was suddenly glad for her policy.

They took their supper at the winking skeever, complete with the finest wine and the fattest goose, which Ghorbash suspected had something to do with the fact that she was Dragonborn, and went over logistics of the next day, plotting out the route on their map in the corner of the tavern.

When they reached their room the Dovahkiin looked surprised to see Ghorbash roll up his pack like a pillow and lie down on the floor.

"What are you doing?"

He looked at her in confusion.

"There is only one bed, you told the barkeeper I sleep on the floor."

Giving a laugh that was more incredulous than humorous, the Dovahkiin swept her hair out of her face.

"I didn't actually mean that. I'm sorry, I should have told you. I only said that so he would get off my back. I was thinking we'd share the bed, it's certainly big enough."

Ghorbash looked dubiously at her. One the one hand, if a serving girl walked into their room and saw them sleeping together they would have trouble, but on the other hand he had already slept on the floor the previous night, and he wasn't as young as he used to be.

His aching bones relented, and he settled down on the bed, lying wide awake as the Dovahkiin buried her nose in his shoulder and slept.


	4. Chapter 4

Ghorbash eventually went to sleep, but that didn't stop him from rising an hour before the Dovahkiin.

After using the chamber pot and putting on his armor he went downstairs to procure some breakfast, finding some relief in the empty common room.

Though it was just starting to get light outside the only person awake was the little girl, Minette, if he remembered correctly, and she was busy scrubbing the counter, looking half asleep.

"Good morning," he told her, voice hoarse from sleep.

The girl jumped, water from the rag sloshing over the counter as she did.

"G-G-Good morning," she stammered in reply, attempting a weak smile.

"I know it is early," he said, voice low and calm so as not to frighten her, "but my companion would breakfast in her room. I will take it up, do not trouble yourself."

The girl gulped but nodded, and scurried off toward the kitchen.

When she was gone Ghorbash leaned against the counter and ran a hand over his face.

What the fuck was he doing? Being nice to children? Bringing a little Nord breakfast in bed? Leaving his stronghold? He knew that he was a traveler, that he lusted for battle in a way that scared even the toughest of Orsimer, but if Malacath could see him now...

The girl came back with apples, cheese, bread, and eggs on a serving platter. Remembering what the Dovahkiin had told him, he tipped the girl well, and then brought the food up to the room.

The Dovahkiin was awake and sitting up when he opened the door, her blonde hair tousled but her eyes sharp.

"I thought you might have stolen my coin purse," she said by way of greeting, smiling when she laid eyes on the food.

Ghorbash gave a huff.

"It is you who is thief, not me."

The Dovahkiin gave a laugh and beckoned him toward her, blanket slipping down to reveal her breastband.

Perhaps too willingly Ghorbash came over, laying the tray in the middle and sitting at the foot of the bed.

"What is the plan?" he asked her, spearing the eggs with his dagger and bringing them to his lips.

The Dovahkiin popped a piece of cheese into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

"I was planning on just walking there. Horses are too big and noisy, they always tell the enemy when you're coming."

Ghorbash nodded but frowned.

"It will take some hours."

"But what better than a long walk to get to know each other, right?"

Ghorbash had to resist the urge to glare while the Dovahkiin smiled a little _too_ innocently at him.

"I will teach you my language," he told her, when she had turned back to eating.

Her eyes bulged as she choked on a piece of apple.

"No shit, really? Holy fuck- I mean, thank you. Thank you very much. I appreciate the opportunity."

Ghorbash nodded, but his look was grave.

"But you prove trust first."

She cocked her head to the side.

"What do I have to do?"

"Say your name."

The eager look in the Dovahkiin's eyes suddenly became guarded, and she placed her half-eaten apple back down on the tray.

"There's not much in a name."

Ghorbash shook his head.

"But there is much in yours. They call you Dragonborn, but I will call you something different. My language is votauk zemar zo, I would know yours."

"Votauk zemar zo?"

"My inner heart."

Chewing on her lip, the Dovahkiin picked up her apple again.

"I'll think about it."

Ghorbash nodded, and they finished their meal in silence.

"There is no one in Tamriel who knows my name," she said softly, slipping out from under the blankets and crawling across the bed, "not alive and not dead. To give such a thing to you would be to give you a power over me that no one has ever had."

She sat down delicately next to him, a small gasp passing her lips when he grabbed her hips and pulled her forward. The feeling was intoxicating, him in his armor and her hardly dressed, the lily-white skin of her hips soft under his green and callused hands, but he was not a fool, so he simply grabbed the wheat paste off the bedside table and began tending to her thigh.

"I will have that power," he told her, the steel in his tone not matching the gentleness of his hands, "I heal your wounds, I skin your kills, I fight your battles, I walk in your step. I _deserve_ that power."

The Dovahkiin sucked on her lower lip, her jaw jutting out in a hard line.

"We shall see."

The rest of the time was spent tending to her wound in silence, the moment strangely intimate, caught between peace and tension.

"Ready to kill some rebels?" the Dragonborn said with her signature sly smile when her leg was once again wrapped.

A rush of air came out of Ghorbash's nose in what the Dovahkiin assumed was his way of laughing, and a buzz of anticipation filled the air. If nothing else, they were warriors, and they were on the scent of blood.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

They packed quickly, Ghorbash awkwardly talked to the barkeeper while the Dovahkiin raided the larder, and then they were on the road, the nice weather seeming to usher them along.

The Dovahkiin sang several bawdy songs on the way, the beauty of her voice contrasting the repulsive content of the lyrics.

A few wolves eyed them from off the path, but her loud rendition of a song called "Drunken Sailor" seemed to keep them at bay.

About two miles away from their destination she became suddenly quiet, the silence unnerving after her traveling concert. Now that her voice was not distracting him Ghorbash realized the only footsteps he could hear were his own, her hide boots muffling the sound.

When they reached Fort Hraagstad the Dovahkiin beckoned him to hide behind a group of trees. They spent a few minutes watching the fort, the blood starting to boil in Ghorbash's veins at the prospect of the fight.

"Stay here for a minute," she whispered, "I'll scream if I need you."

Turning to protest, Ghorbash saw that she had already slipped away, her hair flashing in the light before she pulled her helm on.

She was gone for about ten minutes, but appeared just as suddenly as she had left, pulling on his arm so that she could whisper into his ear.

"There are about twelve of them outside, I have no idea how many inside. I'll shoot the four off the walls, but the ones on the ground will almost certainly notice. I'll shoot them as they come through the door way, but I might have to use my daggers. Your job is smash and bash."

For the first time since he had left his stronghold, he smiled, showing off teeth much sharper than any humans.

In response to Ghorbash's grin, the Dovahkiin smiled as well, a hint of mischief coming into her eyes.

"Hey Ghorbash, you know how my armor helps me sneak around? It's made of _hide._ Get it? Hide?"

Ghorbash's smile dropped. "Just shoot the bagronks."

The Dovahkiin laughed and stepped out of the trees, still smiling at Ghorbash as she shot a Khajiit in the throat.

The Khajiit gurgled and dropped off the wall, and the Dovahkiin shot another bandit through his eye when he ran up to check on his comrade. The third fell the same way, but after that the bandits started to run through the doors.

Ghorbash rolled his shoulders and stalked through the trees, taking in the terrified faces of the bandits who spotted him before giving a roar and charging into battle. Dimly, he registered the Dovahkiin's maniacal laugh as he used his ax split open a Breton's throat, and he gave a booming laugh as well as a Nord coming toward him was suddenly dropped with an arrow to the eye.

The Dragonborn dropped two more with her arrows, but a particularly nasty bandit broke off from the group assaulting Ghorbash to go after her.

Roaring in anger, Ghorbash whirled around to go after him, but the Dovahkiin was faster, stabbing a dagger through the man's sword arm to slow his weapon and bringing a handful of lightning up to his face.

Ghorbash's pause to watch the man being electrocuted cost him a sword to the arm.

"Ghorbash!" the Dovahkiin cried, but he paid no attention to her, instead shield bashing the woman who had struck him and bringing his ax down in her face.

One more was taken down by Ghorbash's ax, two more were dropped with the Dovahkiin's arrows, and then, suddenly, there was only quiet.

"Let me see your arm," she told him, reaching out to him.

He granted her request, and she closed it slightly with a weak golden light.

"Sorry," she apologized, digging in her pouch for a healing potion, "I'm not much for healing magic."

Ghorbash grunted. "Anything helps. It was my fault, my eye."

"You don't need to worry about me," she said as he drank the potion, "You had three people fighting you at the same time, you don't need to save me from one smelly Nord."

"You are so small," he told her.

"I am a dragon," she countered.

"You are young,"he stated.

"And you're a blind old man," she said with a smile.

He huffed. "I cannot argue."

She laughed, the scene bizarre due to the bodies littering the ground, and hit his shoulder.

"Come on, let's go kill some bitches."

Ghorbash huffed again and the two entered the fort.

After the Dovahkiin killed two lackies with her arrows and Ghorbash engaged in a one on one with the leader of the gang, the two unlikely companions were sitting at a table eating food they had found in the bandit leader's room, looking at the hand ax that Ghorbash had lifted from the leader.

"What is the enchantment, do you think?" the Dovahkiin asked.

Ghorbash shrugged, his armor clinking with the motion.

"You are mage, not me."

The Dragonborn snorted, "Hardly. My healing's shit and I can only electrocute someone by touching their skin. I've fought enough mages to know that I have the magical abilities of a toddler."

"But still mage," Ghorbash said stubbornly, ripping a hunk of meat with his sharp teeth.

"Whatever," she said with a roll of her eyes, "It's probably stamina draining, you can see it has a green shine when you rotate it."

Ghorbash grunted in approval, "It is a good ax."

"I think that's the highest praise I've heard you say," the Nord said with a grin.

"The food is acceptable also," Ghorbash deadpanned.

A bubbling laugh erupted out of the Dovahkiin's throat, and for the second time that day, Ghorbash smiled.


	5. Chapter 5

The walk back to Solitude was quite jovial for both of them. When Ghorbash's arm was wrapped and it was confirmed that the Dovahkiin had no injuries, the two gleefully talked about the fight on the way back, which quickly dissolved to them talking about fights that they had won in the past.

"And so there I was, dripping blood into my ale, still in my prisoner's rags, when Thonar Silverblood, he was the one who put me in remember, anyway, he comes in and says 'Dovahkiin, I see you found your way out of my mine.'

"Well, I thought he had come to put me back in, so I pulled out my shiv and held it up against his throat in front of the whole tavern, and I said, 'If you try to put me back in I'll just crawl back out, and I'll take you with me before I go.'

"I thought I was going to have to fight my way out of the tavern with a broken collarbone and a bum leg, but the bastard just smiles and says, "I heard that Madanach is dead. I came to tell you you've been pardoned, it turns out you were framed.'

"Then that son of a whore has the _same fucking guards who arrested me_ give me back my belongings and when I take my shiv off his neck he gives me his family ring! I may hate the bastard, but even I have to admit that was a baller move."

"I do not know what baller means," Ghorbash said, "But I agree."

The Dovahkiin laughed jovially.

"Anyway," she continued, "I only had two minor healing potion in my bag, and I wasn't going to hang around that city a second longer to get more. So I drank them on the road. That's why my collarbone and my split lip were healed but my leg was still fucked up."

"You take better care," Ghorbash said with a frown, "Not even a good healer can heal the stupid."

"Gee, thanks, Ghorbash _,"_ she said with an eyeroll, "I love it when you call me stupid."

"You are welcome," he replied, and though he didn't smile she saw the twinkle in his eye.

They were given a wide berth when they entered the city, due to them both being splattered with blood and guts, and so it was an easy walk toward Castle Dour. The guards at the door looked as though they might stop them, but with a sneer from behind the Dovahkiin's back Ghorbash scared the guards into submission.

When they entered the building Ghorbash paused so as to not interrupt Rikke and Tullius's argument, but the Dovahkiin strode into the room as though she belonged.

"Tell me again why I'm wasting men chasing after a fairytale?" Tullius asked, brow raised to pronounce the lines in his forehead.

"If Ulfric gets his hands on that crown it won't be a fairytale, it will be a problem," Rikke countered, fist slamming down on the table.

The Dovahkiin sauntered to the war table and collapsed into the chair, looking on the argument with seeming boredom.

"Don't you nords put any stock in your own traditions?" Tullius asked, glancing at the Dovahkiin as though for help, "I thought the moot chose the king."

The Dovahkiin nodded at Tullius, spurring him on.

"We're backing Elisif, when the moot meets they'll do the sensible thing."

"Not everyone's agreed to the moot," Rikke said, exasperated, "You've been here long enough to know that Nords aren't always sensible, we follow our hearts."

"Hear, hear!" The Dovahkiin cried, swiping a sweet roll from the table and taking a bite.

"So what, Ulfric gets the crown and then suddenly he's high king?"

"It's not as simple as that!" Rikke exclaimed, "The Jagged Crown would be a potent symbol for his cause to rally around, but if we found it first..."

"And gave it to Elisif," the Dragonborn encouraged.

"In the absence of the moot it would further legitimize her claim," Rikke finished.

"Perhaps," the general conceded, "But make sure you take the auxiliary here. You can send her back when you find nothing but old bones and cobwebs."

"That Stonefist's no fool, he's found the crown, but we'll get it first."

The Dovahkiin gave a thumbs up, as her mouth was full of sweet roll.

"Glad to see you survived," Rikke said, waving her hand when the Dovahkiin offered her her own sweet roll, "We'll send men to garrison the fort, looks like you are going to Korvanjund."

"Korvanjund?" she questioned.

"I know it," Ghorbash stated.

"Then we'll be there," the Dovahkiin confirmed with a rakish smile.

"Good," said Rikke, "Talk to Beirend, he'll get you armor. Does he need..." she trailed off, looking at Ghorbash.

"I don't fight for legion, I will not wear your armor," he sneered.

"Who do you fight for?" she asked, voice hard as granite.

"Her," he said with a nod of his head toward the Dovahkiin.

Rikke's stare was piercing and cold, but the Dovahkiin's gentle smile made Ghorbash feel warm inside.

"Just you then," Rikke said with a crisp nod, "See you at Korvanjund, soldier."

Sneering his lip at the impersonal way that Rikke addressed the Dovahkiin, Ghorbash followed his companion out of castle dour and into the night.

"You are not a soldier," he said with a snarl, "You are kulkodar, you breathe zajar! She should not treat you as a pa-shi Nord."

"I should be treated as a- what was it- pa-shi Nord more often. Keeps me grounded."

Ghorbash huffed again and didn't say anything else on the walk to the blacksmith.

"Mention that I'm Dovahkiin," she said out of the corner of her mouth as they approached Beirand.

"Hello," she said, "I was told to come to you for armor."

Beirand sighed, wiping an arm across his forehead, "Light, medium, or heavy?"

"Light," she answered.

Nodding, he started to rummage through a pile, "I don't do fittings, there's no time, but the armor's free."

"Not even fitted?" Ghorbash said with a scoff, "Come, Dragonborn, you will get Orc armor."

"You're the Dragonborn?" the blacksmith said with a start, "Of course you will be fitted, of course! Come into the shop, I will take your measurements. You will get my best work, Dragonborn, it will be an honor."

"Thank you, Ser," she said with all the grace of a noble.

Ghorbash resisted rolling his eyes.

Though it was already late, the blacksmith took all the Dovahkiin's measurements and asked questions relating to the type of armor she would like

Ghorbash stood with his arms crossed by the door, watching the process silently.

With a weary glace at Ghorbash, Beirand asked if 'the Orc' needed armor too. The Dovahkiin interrupted Ghorbash before he could open his mouth, very politely saying that he didn't, and then they were out the door.

The stars were already shining overhead as the made their way down the ramp, and the Dovahkiin chatted quietly, as though not to disturb the heavens.

"I don't mind being a soldier so much, not really. Every time someone learns who I am, suddenly I'm... higher than they are. I'm treated with reverence, and that's fine at first but sometimes- sometimes you just need to be treated like everyone else."

"And sometimes you need to get your armor fitted."

A laugh startled out of the Dovahkiin at Ghorbash's comment, and she said, "You're right, I guess I am a hypocrite. No good for me to die because of a gap in my armor though."

"When will it be done?"

"Day after tomorrow," she replied, approaching the Winking Skeever, "So we'll have that long to fight with this motherfucker."

Wrenching the door open, she strode toward the bartender and slammed a bag of coin on the counter.

"Fifty septims, two nights, four meals, two baths."

"You insult me," the innkeeper replied, sneering at the bag of gold, "Perhaps the stables will accept your offer."

The Dovahkiin opened her mouth to continue arguing, but was interrupted by Minette pulling on her father's shirt. The innkeeper leaned down for his daughter to whisper in his ear, and when he straightened up his smile was from ear to ear.

"I was simply playing, my friend, of course you can stay. Of course the _Dragonborn_ would want to stay at the _Winking Skeever."_

He said the last sentence very loudly while looking around the room so as to make sure everyone was paying attention. Then he crossed around the counter, wrapped an arm around the Dovahkiin's shoulder, and started leading her toward the rooms.

"I will show you to your rooms, _Dragonborn_ , and your baths will be up shortly."

Ghorbash rolled his eyes and trudged after them.

After assuring the innkeeper that they didn't need anything else, the two companions were able to sink into their baths and soak the earlier battle away.

"We will get meat tonight," Ghorbash said, washing some blood off of his bicep.

"And thirty people to watch us eat it," the Dovahkiin said with a laugh.

"You knew this would happen," he told her.

"Knowing something and wanting something are two different things."

"You cannot get armor fitted and eat in silence."

"You should be a philosopher."

"You should be quiet."

The Dovahkiin shrugged, her shoulders causing the water to splash.

"You were the one who started it."

Ghorbash grunted and went back to bathing himself.

The Dovahkiin was quiet for a moment, but then she hesitantly broke the silence.

"Ghorbash?"

"Hmm?"

"I know that you don't want to talk about what made you leave the legion, but what happened to you... do you think it could happen to me?"

A growl ripped through Ghorbash's throat, and he stood suddenly, the water sloshing over the side of the tub and dripping off of his naked form.

"I will kill every legionnaire with my bare hands if they even tried."

He was fearsome like this. Six and a half feet of pure muscle and bone, sculpted like a statue of Malacath. Dripping wet with blood stained water he looked down at her like a terrible and awe-inspiring god, and the Dovahkiin was suddenly very glad that his wrath was not directed at her.

"Kataja," she said suddenly, barely higher than a whisper.

"What?" he said, color draining out of his face.

"My name is Kataja."


	6. Chapter 6

Her name had been Daya.

He had only been three and twenty when he saw her first, and he had fallen in love with her in a heartbeat. An Imperial, with long brown hair and beautiful tanned skin, Daya was the sort of woman who _shined,_ the most precious jewel of the imperial city. He had never seen something so lovely before, and she would laugh when he said it was worth leaving his stronghold just to see her face.

She loved him, a fact he never could quite understand, and he would have forsaken Malacath himself if she had asked him. Every coin he had went to her, every daydream, every whispered word. She was a port of calm in the chaos of the war, the bracelets on her ankles jingling to drown out the clash of steel.

He told her he loved her countless times, pressed a thousand kisses into her skin, but she was a fortune teller, and she knew it could not last.

She flipped tarot cards, rolled rune carved bones, and stared unblinking into crystal balls.

When Ghorbash asked her to marry him she turned him down.

"You know I love you, amasius," she had said, her eyes full and her smile sad, "But you are destined to marry another. Kataja, what a funny name your wife shall have."

He begged her, pleaded her, swore that he knew no such woman, but Daya would not budge.

"I have you now, amasius," she would say, "But it is Kataja who you will marry."

He grew to hate her, this Kataja, the woman that made his lover deny him, this ghost that haunted the bed that they shared, but Daya never did.

Daya was so soft.

They told him the sword cut through her neck like butter.

"Pig lover," they had called her, killed by his brothers in arms because she had lain with an Orc.

He had slain her murderers, he had grieved, and he had returned to the stronghold; the world was not for beasts like him.

He hated Kataja, hated this woman who lived while his lover lay dead, hated this phantom who haunted his heart, but now she was here, small and naked in a copper tub, eyes wide and frightened, plucking at his heartstrings and stirring his cock.

He could not harm her, but he could not stay here.

Long ago he had made a promise he would never love this Kataja, would never let Daya be just a footnote in his life, and if he stayed, he would love her. This he knew.

Quickly, he stepped out of the bath, striding over to his armor and putting it on as fast as his shaking hands would allow.

"Ghorbash?" she asked, water sloshing as she turned, "Where are you going?"

"Away," he answered, "Jiak kij ukorrausan liavavle shapend. (I am sorry little bird)."

He threw his gauntlets into his pack and shouldered it, heading straight toward the door.

"Stop!" she demanded, looking more like a drowned kitten than the Dragonborn, "I demand you tell me what this is!"

A heavy sigh leaked from Ghorbash as he turned to face her.

"Your name is Kataja," he told her, and after one last look into her sky blue eyes he fled into the night.

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 **AN: Sorry that this is so short, especially since I've had such a long break! (It's a long story involving about a thousand things going wrong with my computer) The next chapter is definitely longer, and much less depressing. Do you like the orcish translation immediately after in parentheses, or would you prefer it at the end of the chapter? Thanks so much to everyone who faved and commented!**


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